Things I can't wait to share with you

I shake my hair from my shoulders. Some of it sticks to my neck, damp with the last of the summer air. It’s been six hours of waiting in 90 degree weather with no shade, but now the sun is going down and we’re roasting s’mores and making friends with the people sharing our firepit. A flower falls out of Grace’s braid and I bobby pin it back in.

Soon enough they’re lighting the demo, showing us how to hold the edges so the paper doesn’t burn. And then…the man over the speaker says to go ahead.

It takes me a moment to light the middle, but when I get it, it flares up, bright and surprising against the night sky. My fingertips shake against the lip. The light steadies and the paper expands, filling with warm air. As it does, a spiraling red pattern unfurls—with swoops and curls and flowers. It’s my signature doodle and boy did I have a lot of time to doodle while we waited.

This is worth the wait.

People around are in all stages of trying to light their lanterns, from struggling with lighters to holding tight while they fill with warm air, to just watching, heads tipped back. There’s the gentle murmur of a crowd in awe, just audible over the music coming through the speakers. Tangled. They are playing Tangled. This couldn’t get much better.

It’s been a minute, so I loosen my grip to check the balance. It sways for a moment, coming dangerously close to burning the red swirly side, before straightening out, tugging upward.

So.. I let go.

My lantern lifts into the sky, joining the others—there must be hundreds, maybe thousands, all different colors and shapes and designs. Some have scorch marks on the side. I keep my eyes on my lantern, pressing my lips together. It nudges another. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. But it doesn’t. It goes up and up and up until I can’t tell it apart from the others, and they float away.

Grace steps to my side, nudging me and I smile at her. She grins back, eyes wide with the same excitement. Together we take in the sky and I couldn’t be more grateful to be sharing this with my best friend.

I do a slow circle, taking in the glowing lights surrounding me, from the horizon to as far up as I can see. The lanterns are gleaming and the music is building and my heart is swelling, like my chest can barely contain it.

My face is aching from smiling so big, but I seriously can’t help it. I feel filled with joy, something that shouldn’t be so rare, but it is. There’s nothing to spoil this and so I just smile and give into the moment, letting everything else slip away, floating, up and up and up.
         Please be prepared for constant Tangled references and know that I love you.

A year later and therapy isn't any easier

I sit across from Samantha, sinking into the therapy office couch and holding my breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Coming back to therapy sucks more than I thought it would.

She’s asking small talk questions, getting a better idea of what my life is like right now and why I asked to come in randomly.

Yes, I spent the summer in Chicago.

No, I didn’t like my lifeguarding job there very much.

No, Grace and I aren’t living together anymore.

Yes, I like my new roommates a whole lot.

And then she asks a more complicated question.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Uhhh,” I say. She raises an eyebrow at me, uncrossing her legs so that her toes just barely skim the floor.

“No?” But my eyes get all squinched and she laughs.

“What’s his name?”

She reaches under her chair and presses the lever to lower it. Her feet settle onto the ground.

“Ryan.”

After five years of friendship, two official dates, and seeing each other basically every day since he moved to Utah, I’m still really scared to take things any further with him.

I tug on a random chunk of hair until it falls over my shoulder.

“He held my hand a couple nights ago.”

Her face softens and she leans forward. “Are you happy about it?”

“Yeah,” I say, ducking my eyes, running my fingers down the length of the chunk of hair.

“Buuuut?”

Dang therapist. She knows there’s more to it.

“I’m nervous because it’s not… some lame high school relationship that I can try for a couple weeks and then back out. This one matters. He’s important.”

A stray hair comes out in my hand. I shake it from my fingers.

“Sounds like you have a good friendship.”

“The best.” I twist the ends of the hair around my pointer finger.

I know I have a lot of time to figure things out, but I’m stuck between the idea that he could be you, that you are him... it’s got me paralyzed with fear that he might be and panic that he might not.

“So what’s holding you back?”

Aaand here is where we jump into the crap reasons I came here today. The hour passes with a lot of tugging on my hair and looking for split ends. I’m not good at talking about this. Which really means it’s a good thing I’m here.

We’ve just finished mapping out the exact thought distortions I have around intimacy and sex when something Samantha says catches my attention.

“Well how are we gonna ‘reprogram’ these unhelpful distortions?”

It honestly shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize it.

I have been trying to reprogram ever since Ian.

The two weeks relationships, the ncmos, pretty much everything post-Ian has been a useless and misguided effort to replace traumatic memories with better ones, to reprogram my mind, to undo the damage Ian caused.

It clicks into place and I must have some sort of stunned expression on, because Sam tilts her head and says, “What?”

So I explain and saying it out loud only confirms it more in my head.

I walk out of therapy with a very rubbed raw feeling, a headache, a lot of soon-to-be-spilt tears, and an appointment to come back next week.

Please help me reprogram and know that I love you.